


My Musician

by HunterByDayWhovianByNight



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Daphnephoria, M/M, Musician!Pete, Priest!Patrick, probably not historically accurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 01:31:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5228786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterByDayWhovianByNight/pseuds/HunterByDayWhovianByNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete is a street musician in the Greek city of Thebes and Patrick is a priest of Apollo. Pete plays in the markets everyday, and one day, Patrick hears him and is intrigued by his musical talent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Musician

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to start this off by saying this:
> 
> \- I created this work for myself and for the enjoyment of others. I do not receive any form of monetary compensation from this story.  
> \- Daphnephoria is a real thing, and little is known about it, but it is a legitimate thing.  
> \- I do not claim this to be entirely historically accurate in any way, shape, or form.  
> \- Sorry mom.
> 
> I hope you enjoy my story! Thank you!
> 
> ~Hunter

The city of Thebes was bustling; people from the surrounding towns and countryside had all gathered there for the Daphnephoria to celebrate Apollo’s protection of the city. Merchants came to sell their wares imported from all over Greece; farmers brought grapes, wine, wheat, and olives; artisans sold their fine pottery and goods. 

Pete’s family was from the city, and they made their money through smith work. His father, Peter, made excellent swords, the best in the city some said. His mother Dale kept the shop, and his sister Hillary worked as a seamstress with a very important shop in Athens. His brother Andrew was apprenticing to become a smith like his father, but Pete was learning to play the lyra, in hopes to find a singer to accompany his music and poetry or to find work in someone's household.

It was one day in the marketplace when Pete was playing his lyra, next to the kind merchant who sold perfumes, oils, and fine cloth and enjoyed to hear Pete play. The sweet and spicy smells of the oils were comforting to Pete’s nose, as the marketplace often smelled of garbage. Around midday, a beautiful young man approached the tent, and Pete was so taken at the sight of him he slipped up on a note, which made the stranger smile and laugh lightly. He had the palest of white skin, completely unblemished and pure. His hair was reddish-blond, and in the sun, looked like spun gold. His blue-green eyes were the colour of the Ismenus River that flowed alongside the city. The white robes and laurels signified he was a priest of Apollo, although Pete thought he could be looking upon the god himself.

Pete gazed at the young man as he continued to play, watching him touch the silks and linens, smelling the oils and perfumes. Finally, the priest chose a luxurious creamy white silk, one that looked like his skin. He paid the merchant, and handed it to the servant he was walking with. As he walked past Pete, he stopped and turned to face him as he played. Pete, though a bit shaken, continued to play, his fingers plucking the strings with skill.

“Stop,” the priest said. Abruptly, Pete finished the note and looked up into the priest’s eyes.

“What is your name, my musician?” he asked, his pink lips curling in interest.

“Pete, sir,” Pete replied, looking down towards his feet and bowing his head in reverence.

The other man took Pete’s chin in his hand, bringing it to meet his eyes. Pete felt his soft hand against his face, and had to fight from bending into the smooth skin. “You are a most talented player, Pete. Apollo would be proud.”

“Thank you, sir. I try to please Apollo as I can, sir,” Pete replied as he continued to gaze into the priest’s eyes. He felt his hands get sweaty, and his breath catch in his throat.

“Come around to the temple after the celebration, and ask for me. I’m sure we can arrange for you to earn a place among the talented musicians we have there,” the priest said as he dropped Pete’s chin, slid a few gold coins into his hand, and walked away.

Pete stood up and called in the other man’s direction, “What name shall I give, sir?”

The man turned, and replied with a smirk, “Patrick.” Patrick turned and began to walk away, his robes flapping in the winds behind him while Pete stood in the street, awed at the man.

~~~~~

“How was your playing today, son? Did you make any money?” Dale asked as they sat around the table eating dinner.

“Actually, one of the priests from the temple came by and told me to go there after the celebration so I could play lyra for them,” Pete said. “And he gave me some gold coins, too.” He dug them out of his pocket and placed them on the table, their shine glinting in the candlelight. His mother gasped while his father clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Do you know which priest?” Dale asked as she looked at the coins closer in the candle, observing the inscriptions on them.

“He said his name was Patrick. I swear, mother, he looked like Apollo himself,” Pete said while leaning over the table in excitement.

“Well he is going to be leading the procession to the temple tomorrow, it’s only fitting he be as handsome as the god,” she replied. 

“Son, I’m glad you’re making a name for yourself,” Peter congratulated him.

“Thank you, father. The coins are for you and mother, though,” Pete said.

“Pete! Keep them, they’re yours. You earned them,” Dale exclaimed. Pete knew that if he tried to resist, he would fail and his mother would insist he keep them.

“Alright, alright, but only if you insist,” Pete joked, his usual smile spreading across his face.

After dinner, Pete sat close to the fire to practice playing, but couldn’t keep his mind off of Patrick and the way he moved and the way he held his chin and looked into his eyes. He felt a stirring low in his abdomen at the memory of the intense gaze Patrick had given him, and try as he could, he couldn’t shake the thought away. Deciding that it would be too much effort to try and play while thinking of Patrick, he wrapped his lyra in its deep green linen covering and stowed it under his bed and fell asleep.

Pete’s dreams were haunted by Patrick; he kept seeing glimpses of those blue-green eyes, flashes of the porcelain-white skin, and those pink, plush lips. It was almost too overwhelming, even in dream state, and Pete awoke. His skin was flushed and sweaty, and he was panting. Tentatively, he pressed a hand to his stomach, finding that the area was sticky with come. He sighed in discontent, and went to find something to clean himself up. After he found a cloth, he dipped it in the water bowl beside his bed and wiped himself off hastily. Once he was clean, he laid back down in his bed (which had been spared from his release since he was lying on his back) and fell asleep again. This time, it was dreamless.

~~~~~

Bright sunlight shone through Pete’s window and hit his eyes. He squinted and rubbed his eyes, trying to wake himself up. After lying in bed for a few more minutes, he worked up the strength to get up. He pulled off the tunic he had worn the day before, and looked in the small trunk at the end of his bed for a cleaner one. He found one, and quickly threw it on before lacing up his sandals, grabbed his lyra, and went out to meet his family in the common room. 

“You ready to go to the celebration, Pete?” Dale asked him as he walked in. 

“Yeah… Just tired is all,” Pete replied with a yawn.

“You won’t be tired for long. Too much excitement in the air!” she said happily.

Pete guessed it wouldn’t be too bad that he was up this early. He would get to see his Apollo, walking in the sunlight and crowned in laurels, like he should be. He smiled a bit at the thought and announced, “I think I’m going to go now. I want to see the beginning of the procession.”

“Go ahead, we’ll meet you later. Just be back at a reasonable time tonight if we don’t see you!” Peter called after him as Pete left their house. Pete strolled down the street, lyra under his arm, to the start of the procession. It would start in the center of town and go all the way to the temple, which was quite a few miles in length. He hoped to catch a glimpse of Patrick before he started walking, when all of the other priests would be decking him out.

He got to the square just in time to see half a dozen priests primping Patrick before he led the crowd of people. They were fixing his robes (definitely one from the creamy white one he had bought at the stall yesterday), fluffing out his blond hair, and adjusting the laurels resting on his head. Pete stared at him from the corner of the square, holding his lyra in both hands awkwardly as he watched Patrick duck down so they could put the sun crown on his head. Even though this was taking place out in the open, Pete still felt like he was intruding on some secret, private moment. When Patrick looked up, he glanced over to where Pete was standing, and gave him the same flirtatious smirk he had the day before in the marketplace. Pete blushed and shyly turned his head away, trying not to meet the other man’s gaze. 

“My musician! Pete! Come here!” Patrick called from his spot in the center of the square. While slightly surprised, Pete lightly jogged over to Patrick.

“Can’t believe you spotted me in that crowd of people, sir,” Pete breathily laughed when he got to Patrick. Patrick waved the servants away, and they bowed and scurried off elsewhere. 

“Oh, my musician. I’d spot you anywhere,” Patrick said as his eyes scanned Pete’s body, raising his eyebrows suggestively when he was done.

“You’re too kind, sir,” Pete replied bashfully. 

“There’s no need to call me sir all the time, either. Patrick will do just as well,” Patrick said as he placed a hand on Pete’s bicep, which made Pete’s heart race and his muscles tense.

“Sorry s- Patrick,” Pete apologized. “You look stunning today. You’ll shine brighter than the sun,” he mused.

“Now I’m the one who’s blushing,” Patrick said as he felt his ears and cheeks grow pink and his heart flutter in anticipation at Pete’s kind words.

“I’m not lying when I say that there could be no perfect choice for Daphnephoros. You are… A work of art,” Pete stammered over his words.

Patrick nicked Pete’s chin with his hand and clicked his tongue. “I wish you were a maid so you could play your beautiful music behind me as we walked to the temple,” Patrick said longingly.

“Guess you’ll have to find me after the procession. I could play for you special,” Pete said as he looked down to his feet.

“Guess I will. See you soon, my musician,” Patrick said as he moved to take his place at the head of the parade. Pete stayed as close as he could to Patrick without interfering with the ceremonial part of the procession.

Every step Patrick took looked weightless, effortless. He glided across the streets, looking straight ahead and never faltering. The golden crown sat atop his wispy red-blond hair and when the sun hit the blades of the crown, they gave off bright beams of light onto the ground. Patrick tuned out the singing and music-playing of the priestesses behind him, wishing it was Pete playing instead. He adjusted the bronze laurels he had tucked into the crook of his arm, and continued to look ahead, his blue-green eyes fixated on the heat-blurred temple of Apollo in the distance.

The trees that surrounded the road signified they were almost to the temple. Patrick’s feet were getting tired, and he was starting to grow rigid at the feeling of standing straight and keeping his head forward. The crown was also torturously heavy, and was killing his neck with each step he had to take. He didn't know how many steps he had taken so far, just that each one brought him closer and closer to the temple, and in turn brought him closer to when he could see Pete again. 

The procession finally reached the temple, and Patrick slowly, gracefully ascended the stairs. When he reached the top, he turned to face the masses that had followed him. He handed off the bronze laurels to another priest, and shouted so everyone could hear, “We have gathered here to thank Apollo for protecting our city! May all of you have your prayers answered, and may you all have a most joyous time in this celebration.” The crowd cheered, and Patrick gave them a winning smile. Two priests came and took the heavy sun crown off of Patrick’s head, and walked away to put it in the safe room.

Once the crowd began to dissipate, Patrick walked into the temple and lit an incense stick and laid it in the pan hanging from a stand adorned with laurels. He looked up to the statue’s eyes, plain and hollow. He got onto his knees, the stone hard and cold, and turned up his palms, folding them over each other in prayer.

Still looking up into the statue’s eyes, Patrick murmured under his breath, “Oh, Apollo, I have but one prayer this Daphnephoria. That man, my musician, the one with the olive skin and dark hair named Pete; I wish him to be mine one day, and I pray that you would look down in favor on us, if he would have me.” He dropped his voice a bit quieter as he noticed people coming up and leaving offerings and kneeling beside him to pray.

Patrick gathered his robes and stood up from his spot, bowing before the statue before turning. At the entrance of the temple and leaning against a column was Pete, playing on his lyra. “I found you, Pete,” Patrick teased as he moved closer to him.

“That you have. Would you not join me in the celebration outside?” Pete said as he gestured to the crowds outside. They were singing and dancing, and the music from the pipes and harps flowed sweetly into the temple, resonating off of the stone walls.

“I don’t see a reason not to,” Patrick said as he called a servant over. The servant came, and Patrick took Pete’s instrument from him and said to the boy, “Could you put this in my room for safekeeping, please?” The boy nodded, and took the lyra, tucking it under the crook of his arm and walking off towards the back of the temple. Patrick turned back to Pete and held out his hand and said, “Lead me?”

Pete took his hand, and said, “Anything for the Daphnephoros,” with his recurring blush. He led Patrick down the steps of the temple carefully, and immediately joined in with the dancing people in the field in front of the temple. He and Patrick joined an outer circle, joining hands and shuffling to the right with the others. Then, the tempo changed and the circle began to shuffle to the left. In the quick change of movements, Pete caught a candid shot of Patrick: a light-hearted smile, slightly pink skin, and his red-blond hair falling into his downcast eyes. Patrick’s head snapped up, and an even wider smile spread across his face. The smile must’ve been infectious, because Pete began to smile, still staring at Patrick even as they continued to go around the circle.

Patrick’s eyes met Pete’s, and the connection didn’t even break when the circles fluctuated in and out. Then, the two rings traded places, Patrick and Pete going into the crowd further. Patrick laughed as Pete tripped up on his feet when they moved in. Pete laughed at his own slip-up, and continued to keep his gaze focused on Patrick. As they switched directions again, Patrick gave Pete a flirtatious wink, which made Pete bite his lip in embarrassment. The circle fluctuated in and out yet again, and they were finally in the center ring.

“Put the Daphnephoros in the center!” a maid called out. People whooped, and pushed him into the middle of the dancing rings. Patrick pulled Pete along with him, earning a yelp in surprise from Pete. They laughed, and started to dance in a small circle, going to the left and right; going out and in again. The song ended, and everyone stopped dancing. Pete and Patrick held onto each other, wildly dizzy and panting. Patrick smiled at the flushed look on Pete’s face and used the back of his hand to wipe a stray bead of sweat running down the side of Pete’s brow. His hand travelled down to caress Pete’s cheek, his fingers feeling the growing stubble there. This time, Pete leaned into the touch, closing his eyes and bringing a hand up to hold Patrick’s in place.

A softer, slower song began to play, and Patrick slipped away from Pete’s grasp and placed his left palm on Pete’s right. They began to move in a slow circle, unable to keep their eyes off of each other still. All around, the crowds watched as the two danced, moving in tandem like the sun and moon. They traded the palms they were touching, and switched the direction. More lovers began to do the same dance, and soon, there were maids and youths swirling around and brushing past each other on the field with Pete and Patrick in the center. Pete trailed his fingertips lightly up Patrick’s inner arm and around his neck, pulling him close to his chest. Patrick looked up into Pete’s gorgeous brown eyes, and placed his hands on Pete’s waist.

The dancers around them kept moving, heedless of the intimate moment in the center of the field. After a few moments of the stationary position, Patrick stood on his tiptoes and touched his lips to Pete’s. He thought that Pete wouldn’t respond, but he did instantly- Pete’s chapped lips felt beautiful against his soft ones, and he leaned further into the kiss, deepening it.

They pulled apart after a few seconds, Pete looking down towards the ground and blushing. “I’ve never done that before,” Pete stammered.

“Me either,” Patrick lightly laughed. His eyes found Pete’s, and Pete took Patrick’s hand in his and they walked through all the dancers to find a quieter area.

They ended up walking about a half a mile away from the revels, and sat underneath a tree, leaning against the trunk. They must have talked for hours before Patrick asked, “What is your family like, if you have one?” as he toyed with a loose thread on the sleeve of his robe.

“My father makes swords, weapons, armor. My mother keeps the shop. My brother is apprenticing to be a smith and my sister is a seamstress in Athens,” Pete replied.

“What made you want to become a musician? Doesn’t seem like there was much inspiration in your house.”

“I’ve just always loved it. It’s been around me in different forms, too. The ringing of the hammer against a sword, the silent roar of fire in the hearth. There was always my sister and mother humming around the shop,” Pete said as he picked grass from the ground absentmindedly.

“I guess I misjudged. You’re a fantastic musician, nonetheless,” Patrick said, turning to look at Pete. Pete looked back at him and smiled, his brown eyes framed by little crinkles and long lashes.

“How about you? Why’d you want to become a priest?” Pete asked, scooting closer to Patrick so that their biceps brushed against each other.

“I… I always felt a calling. Like it was my purpose. I think I realized at my first Daphnephoria, when I was just a boy. I saw the Daphnephoros and all the priests, and I just knew,” Patrick mused, a smile spreading across his face.

"You deserved it, you know. When I first saw you and slipped up on my notes, it was because I thought I was looking upon Apollo himself," Pete said, blush creeping up his neck and making his cheeks hot. 

"I would say that's sacrilege, but seeing as I'm supposed to be the mortal form of Apollo, I guess you are looking upon him now," Patrick said with a smirk. 

“Sir, I mean Patrick,” Pete stammered out. “How is it you always have me blushing?”

“I love it when you blush. You do it a lot. Especially when I sweet-talk you or try to egg you on,” Patrick replied as he put a hand on Pete's knee and brushed his thumb across it. He felt the muscle slightly tense underneath his feather-light touch, and Pete turned to look at Patrick again. 

Patrick's hand slid up the side of Pete's leg and torso. He stopped it on the back of his neck, and leaned in to kiss him again. Their lips moved across each other easier than they had before, and the movements came naturally for them. Pete let himself be laid down on the ground as Patrick climbed on top of him. Pete's hand went to Patrick's hip while the other went to his shoulder. The kiss slowly became more passionate, and Patrick rolled his hips down against Pete's, the kiss breaking so they could both moan. 

“I think that we should be heading back now. We can pick up on this in a more… Comfortable position,” Patrick said as he stroked Pete's cheek with one hand. 

“A-anything for you,” Pete stammered, still in shock that this man, this near god, would even be interested in him in the slightest. Patrick crawled off of Pete and helped him to stand. They helped brush off each other's robes, and Pete adjusted the green laurels on Patrick's wispy strawberry-blond hair before they joined hands and walked back to the festival. 

As they walked back, Patrick fell into the same regal walk he had done that morning, only looking to Pete to cast a borderline sultry glance at him every now and then. Nobody noticed them as they stalked through the revels, slipping past people and walking up the steps of the temple alongside other worshippers. As they passed the people praying, they made sure to be inconspicuous and creep along the halls of the temple to the inner chambers, where the priests lived. 

Pete was giddy with excitement as Patrick broke into a light jog down the empty corridors. Patrick broke his usual determined, steady look and smiled just as wide as the other man as he led Pete to his bedroom. When they finally arrived at the door, Patrick stood in the middle of the arch and in front of the curtain, his arms outstretched so that they touched the door frame. 

“You coming in?” Patrick teased as he pushed the curtain aside and walked backwards into the room. Pete followed, holding up the curtain so he could pass through. 

The room wasn't much to brag about, but still very nice. There was a woven rug, most likely imported, cushions, a low table, and a plushy mattress on a wood bed frame. As Pete studied the room, Patrick lit a candle for them so he could see it better. With the light that now flooded the room, he spied his lyra leaning against the wall.

Patrick must have seen him look towards it, because he said, “You can play for me later. Right now, I want you,” and placed his hands on Pete’s chest and tugged him towards the bed. Pete let himself be dragged towards the bed and be pushed onto the mattress; the bed was soft and squishy, and practically molded to Pete’s back.

The bed dipped when Patrick crawled on top of him, and Pete looked up at Patrick, their gaze locking before Patrick leaned in to kiss him deeply. Pete reciprocated and allowed Patrick to lick his lower lip before slipping into his mouth. The feeling of Patrick’s tongue against his made him moan into the kiss, instantly deepening it. The wet kiss was a tad uncoordinated and sloppy; both Pete and Patrick’s mouths were spit-slicked and bright red. Pete nipped Patrick’s lower lip and clutched Patrick’s robes in his fist.

“Eager?” Patrick asked with hooded eyes and a growl. 

“Guess so,” Pete replied and rocked his hips up to meet Patrick’s, who half-moaned and bit his lip to contain it. He laid on top of Pete, pressing him into the bed underneath his weight. Patrick’s hands crept under Pete’s robe, pushing it farther up his thighs. He let his hands drift towards Pete’s inner thighs, and Pete felt goosebumps prickle all over his body, making him arch into Patrick’s touch. He felt himself grow hard as Patrick’s smooth fingertips brushed his cock and wrap around him.

Patrick’s hand began to slowly jack Pete, and Pete let out a lengthy moan. Patrick smirked, seeing Pete begin to come undone beneath him. He twisted his wrist on the upstroke, increasing the pleasure for Pete. The feeling of Patrick’s hand on his dick was heavenly, the hands that had probably never worked a day in their lives were immaculately soft, like the silk at the booth he played lyra at. Pete let out a breathy sigh when he felt Patrick swipe his thumb over the head, spreading the pre-come from the slit all over his cock.

“Do you want me to…” Patrick trailed off as he skimmed a fingertip over Pete’s entrance, sending a little shiver up Pete’s spine, making him rise slightly off the bed.

“Yes. Gods, I want you in me,” Pete said, eyes screwed shut. Patrick got off the bed, the loss of contact against Pete’s body made him whimper. Patrick rummaged through a chest on the low table in the center of the room and found some olive oil. He came back to the bed with the small bottle, and before he poured some onto his fingers, he removed his robes. Patrick’s porcelain white skin soaked up the light from the candle, illuminating every little curve and white mark on Patrick’s sides. Pete’s eyes fell to Patrick’s crotch, where his dick was already erect.

“Have you ever done this?” Patrick asked, climbing onto the bed and lightly pressing his pointer finger to Pete’s entrance.

“N-never. But I want to,” Pete said, laying a reassuring hand on Patrick’s forearm, his amber eyes pleading yes to Patrick.

“Okay. There’ll be a burn. And you may want to remove your robe, too,” Patrick said. IPete quickly pulled it off and dropped it to the floor beside the bed, letting the linen slip from his fingers and pool on the ground.

Pete was bare in front of Patrick, the light from the candle casting a warm, yellow glow on Pete’s chest. With his unslicked hand, Patrick ran a hand from Pete’s neck and down his chest and abdomen, feeling the toned skin under his touch. His hand stopped at Pete’s hip and held it in place. He finally pushed his finger inside Pete’s entrance, the slow burn making Pete exhale through his nose loudly. “You good, Pete? Use your words,” Patrick said.

“Y-yes. Burns and feels weird, but I’ll be okay. Keep going,” Pete rasped, his voice masked by discomfort. Patrick hesitantly pressed more of his finger in, letting Pete adjust. After Pete’s pain seemed to pass, he slid his finger out and back in again, earning a shudder from Pete. Every time he slid his finger in him, Pete would just sigh and whimper. Thinking it wasn’t enough, Pete shakily said, “A-another.”

Patrick obliged and pressed a second finger beside the first. The wider stretch made Pete groan in pleasure, and he had to hold himself back from grinding onto Patrick’s fingers. Patrick pushed them in gingerly, not wanting to hurt Pete. He slowly pumped them, the whimpers and curses slipping from Pete’s lips like prayers. Patrick scissored his fingers inside Pete, which made Pete’s breathing catch in his throat. A little smirk appeared on Patrick’s lips, and he angled his fingers deeper and scissored again, hitting Pete’s prostate.

Pete cried out when he felt Patrick’s fingers hit that spot inside of him. He practically convulsed on the bed, and ground down onto Patrick. Patrick continued to hit Pete’s prostate, loving the mewls and whimpers coming from Pete’s mouth. He continued to thrust his fingers, and added a third one in to stretch him a little more. Pete’s head fell back and he let out a long, satiated groan at the feeling. Patrick tried to gently press them in, but Pete grinding down onto him made it rougher than Patrick expected it to be. Pete’s breathing became erratic as Patrick moved his fingers in and out of him, the heat pooling in his stomach becoming almost unbearable.

“I want you inside of me now. I’ll come before you even do anything else,” Pete breathed out.

“Alright. Tell me if you can’t continue anymore, and I’ll stop for you.” Patrick said, removing his fingers and laying a hand on Pete’s abdomen. He reached for the oil again, and slicked up his own cock before positioning himself over Pete and lining up with his entrance.

Pete’s right hand went to Patrick’s bicep and squeezed it tightly to brace himself while Patrick slowly thrust his dick inside of him. His fingers were near nothing in comparison; he just felt so much more full with Patrick’s cock inside him. Patrick stilled once he was completely inside Pete and allowed him to adjust to his size.

“Pete? You still okay?” Patrick asked, brushing Pete’s dark hair back, which was slightly matted with sweat.

“Yes, Patrick. I-I want you to keep going,” Pete sighed out. Patrick slid out of him, and then rocked his hips into him again. He moaned at the tight, hot feeling of Pete around him, his arousal spiking even more. He continued to thrust in and out of him, each time a little deeper and a little harder. Patrick leaned down and kissed Pete again, their teeth clicking against each other in the passionate kiss. Their tongues slid across each other as Pete began to meet Patrick’s hips, the tightening coil in both of their bellies threatening to snap.

Patrick moaned out, “Pete, I- I don’t think I can go on. I’m gonna come… Oh gods,” as he felt his thrusts become erratic and sloppy.

“Me too… Fuck, this feels amazing, fuck,” Pete said, his hand reaching between his and Patrick’s bellies so he could jack himself in time to Patrick’s thrusts. A few strokes later, Pete came with a shout, his come painting white streaks across his and Patrick’s chests. Pete coming made Patrick come; the clench of Pete around his cock pushed him over the edge, and he came deep inside of Pete. His head slumped against Pete’s shoulder and he rested on his forearms, as not to crush Pete. They both panted, and Pete’s hand raised to wrap around Patrick’s middle and held him closer to his body, his come sticking their skin together. 

After a few moments, Patrick rolled off of Pete and onto his back beside him in bed. They turned their heads to look at each other, and Patrick asked, “Was it okay? Was I too rough?” 

“It was absolutely amazing, Patrick. Thank you for pitying a poor musician,” Pete laughed.

“Oh, Pete. You’re so silly,” Patrick said as he kissed Pete’s nose. He got up and searched for a cloth to clean the sticky come off themselves. Patrick eventually found two cloths, and soaked them in a water bowl. He brought one to Pete, and they cleaned themselves off. Once they were both clean, Patrick crawled back into the bed and Pete stood and walked over to his lyra, leaning against the low table.

“Should I play for you like I promised?” Pete asked as he reached for the instrument.

Patrick sank into the bed’s pillows and said, “Of course. I’ve been waiting to hear my musician play all day.” That being said, Pete grabbed the lyra and sat next to Patrick on the mattress. He bent one knee, and rested the lyra between his legs and chest. The soft light illuminated Patrick’s face and highlighted his features.

Slightly squinting to see the strings, Pete began to play. His fingers plucked the strings to the same tune he played when he first met Patrick. He looked up shyly at Patrick as he played and gave him a small smile. Their eyes connected and Patrick stared him down with his piercing blue-green eyes for a few moments. Pete looked away, still feeling Patrick’s intense gaze on him. Patrick studied him as he played, watching his long fingers glide across the strings and play effortlessly. 

The song ended, and Pete looked to Patrick for a response. “That was absolutely beautiful, Pete. You’re very talented. I’ll talk to the high priest, and I’m certain that there will be a place for you here,” Patrick said. Pete’s chest grew warm from the praise, and he smiled. He set the lyra on the ground beside the bed, and laid back down on his side to look at Patrick’s face. Patrick pulled the covers out from underneath them, and threw them over their bodies. Pete’s body was pulled into Patrick’s arms, and Patrick turned Pete so that Pete’s back was pressed to his chest. Patrick hooked a leg around Pete, and before he drifted off, he kissed the back of Pete's neck and whispered into his ear, “Good night, my musician.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. There will be a second (final) chapter coming soon, so keep an eye out for it!
> 
> ~Hunter


End file.
